Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) by Soren Petrek Page A

different odors of tobacco. One of the men had a pipe. Their conversation was languid and unhurried. There was no excitement in their voices. They must have just eaten. That will slow them down more.
    Madeleine worked with her hands as she kept an eye on the front. Focus, she told herself. See everything, hear everything. She pulled one of the thicker baguettes out of the package and tore open one end, pulling out a long silencer. She raised her skirt and took her pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh. The fools never even patted me down, she thought, and they’d never touch me there. Screwing the silencer into the barrel, she tucked the gun under the bread paper and carried it over to the office door. She heard the steady cadence of the men’s conversation. She paused briefly, then gently pushed the door open and walked into the room holding the silenced weapon along her side so that it wouldn’t instantly be noticed. The officer seated at the desk turned only after she was fully into the room. Without hesitation she shot him squarely in the forehead. The other officer seated in front of the desk didn’t have time to move. She turned and put a bullet through his throat and face in instant succession. Turning back to the first officer, she shot him a second time so there would be no mistake. Although the room smelled of gunpowder, the silencer had done its job. Both men remained slumped in their chairs, surprise etched on their faces. Madeleine moved out of the room and closed the door behind her. With practiced efficiency she unscrewed the silencer and tucked it away inside her sweater. She placed the gun back into its holster. Get out now, she thought as she moved back to the kitchen, opened a window and dropped a short distance to the pavement below. It was a market day, and although many things were scarce, the street was getting crowded. She was into the crowd and away before she heard the first shriek of a police whistle.

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    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    Madeleine sat next to a small campfire at the entrance to a cave at the top of a hard hike along a forgotten path strewn with scree and boulders. She was halfway up a mountainside in one of her semi-regular hiding places. She had discovered it months ago while moving from one area of southern France to the next. The smells of wild herbs and the breeze off the sea comforted her. Another night on the rocks, she thought. It’s my fault I can’t hide in a safe house. Two years and stacks of dead Germans; nobody trusts me. Well, with the Gestapo’s highest reward on my head, I don’t trust anyone either, she thought, remembering her last assignment.
    The Gestapo must really be stupid to leave themselves exposed like that. She cut a piece of bread, placing it with a lump of lard into a small frying pan balanced on some glowing coals. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a piece of hard goat cheese she’d managed to steal. She broke off a piece to nibble on and crumbled the rest onto the bread. She thought about Provence in the days before the occupation, when cheese was so abundant and so varied that you could eat the freshest, only days old, or the drier, aged pieces that burst with flavor as they melted slowly in your mouth. Funny how much I think about food and how important is to me. Especially when I don’t have any, she thought. Madeleine picked up a wine skin, sloshing it around to see how much she had. “I think I’ll drink it all,” she said aloud, removing the stopper and taking a long pull. At least I won’t have to worry tonight, or have to take this. She fingered the cyanide capsule sewn into the hem of her skirt. I can’t believe they thought I’d use it. I’ll die in a shootout or with my hands around someone’s throat. Either way, I’ll be dead.
    As Madeleine tended to her food and drank the wine, she remembered Jack’s face. I just can’t get him out of my mind. If the Germans don’t kill me, I’ll drive myself crazy, she laughed out